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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26513641">The Stand Up</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylvanius/pseuds/Sylvanius'>Sylvanius</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drunken Confessions, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:26:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,735</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26513641</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylvanius/pseuds/Sylvanius</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Years after the Immortals War, Numair and Daine seem to be the only ones working without all of the information. Will a little liquid courage close the divide?</p>
<p>Set post-RotG in an AU where they did not become romantically involved.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Numair Salmalín/Veralidaine Sarrasri</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Set Them Up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Midsummer festival was always an enchanting affair. All twinkling candles, twirling silk and love-struck sighs. The palace went all out for the evening and even the most jaded at court could find themselves swept up in the romance of it. The rider’s however, knew how to make it a <em> party</em>. </p><p>The entire week leading up to the day was a series of events with plenty of dancing, bawdy song, and drinking. Recruits, not yet adjusted the rider’s demanding schedule, usually attended for the first night or two before they began skipping the merriment altogether—turning in early and grumbling about the noise from the mess hall below. </p><p>Companies that were in the capital, however, looked forward to this week all year as a rare time to let loose. Even the commander’s would partake, often looking the worse for wear by the end of the week, as well as friends of the Rider’s and denizens of the palace who preferred this brand of celebration to the courtly affair that would later mark the holiday.</p><p>“Drink up!” Sarge grinned and set two large mugs of ale in front of Onua and Daine. Onua and Sarge took turns at the parties—always ensuring that one of them kept their wits about them. Onua had also confided in Daine that if she partook every night they’d be digging a ditch for her by the end of the week. While Daine was feeling the effects more than her friend she was not nearly as far gone as others—she laughed as she saw Evin lose to Miri in an arm wrestle and nearly tip over the table. </p><p>“Think Thayet will make it down?” Daine asked, taking a sip of her drink.</p><p>“I saw her around here somewhere,” Sarge lifted a long leg over the bench and sat behind Daine. </p><p>“His Majesty prefers that his Queen leave before anything scandalous happens,” Onua smirked. Thayet strode a careful line between her commitments. “Some of our other friends may take care to follow her lesson in restraint.” She said dryly and Daine followed her gaze. An unsteady Numair was trying to get Buri to dance with him. The K’miri looked as though she wanted to sink into the ground—Buri hated social affairs as it was, and preferred to blend into the walls as much as possible. </p><p>“Poor Buri. I don’t think his charms are working on her.” Daine felt bad for her clearly embarrassed friend, but the pleasant buzz of alcohol in her system helped her see the humor in the situation. She giggled. “What did he get in to? He’s not usually one for drink.” Daine mused and Sarge snorted.</p><p>“Ah, we may have had a drink earlier. He may have had a couple, plus a few more. I’m afraid I was a bad influence.” He was chuckling, “I thought someone of his height could handle it better.”</p><p>“Daine, go put Buri out of her misery.” Onua urged her on but Daine shook her head.</p><p>“I’m not getting pulled into that.” She took another sip and heard the K’miri sigh as she got up.</p><p>“I suppose it’s up to me, then.” Daine and Sarge watched as Onua threaded her way through the crown. Daine had seen less relief on Buri’s face when she was being saved from a stormwing than when Onua stepped between her friend and the mage. </p><p>Daine and Sarge howled with laughter when Numair swept Onua into his arms and twirled her around, ending in a dramatic dip where he almost whacked her head into a table. Onua struggled to get free and was finally successful when Evin tottered over and tried to teach Numair some sort of jig which could only end in disaster. Onua rolled her eyes and tugged at Numair’s tunic, pointing back to their table. Numair spotted Daine with unfocused eyes and smiled, teetering his way towards her. </p><p>“Daine,” he smiled and sat down hard on the edge of the bench. She jumped at the impact, sure that if Sarge had not been on her other side they would have tipped over. Onua had reclaimed her seat and was watching the mage with raised eyebrows. Daine could hear Sarge snickering behind her. </p><p>“This is your fault,” she hissed, behind her.</p><p>“Don’t you look pr—” he stumbled over his words, focusing hard. “Pre—, B—” he sighed and waved his hand in the air, finally snapping his fingers in the air with a look of triumph, “midwintery!” He looked pleased with himself and Onua snorted. Daine looked down at her cotton tunic and breeches, noticing a patch of hay sticking out from under her boot—probably secured there with horse dung. She hadn’t even <em> tried </em> to change for the party. </p><p>“Thank you?” She looked at Onua who shrugged.</p><p>“What about me?” Onua was grinning. “Why don’t I get compliments?” </p><p>“<em>You</em>,” Numair turned to his friend, looking at her very seriously. “You look like a, a—” He smiled, pleased with himself once more. “<em>You </em> look just like an Onua.” Sarge barked with laughter and Daine and Onua shrugged at each other. </p><p>“Nothing like getting charmed at Midsummer is there?” The K’miri muttered, lifting her mug to her lips. Sarge reached over and took Onua’s free hand.</p><p>“Oh, fair lady,” he mimicked the overly airy cadence of a court bard, “your skin is like the desert in the sun, your voice like the whisper of a meadow, your eyes like—”</p><p>“Oh, shut up,” Onua yanked her hand back with a sour look. Daine went to take another drink and found that Numair had beat her to it and was guarding her mug carefully. He was going to have a fair headache in the morning at this rate.</p><p>“I’m offended, I worked very hard on that.” Sarge pouted. Onua rolled her eyes.</p><p>“Very well then, what do my eyes remind you of?”</p><p>“Well, now that you were so rude I’d have to say horse dung.” He couldn’t help but laughing as he said it and Onua swatted at him. Daine snorted, raising her hands in defense at Onua’s glare. </p><p>“I can’t believe you said that—you great, useless lump.” </p><p>“Next time be nicer to me and I will say nicer things.” Sarge grinned widely as the two of them settled into a familiar banter. Daine turned her attention back to Numair, who was studying the now empty mug.</p><p>“I think you finished it,” Daine giggled, taking it from his unsteady hands. She blushed when he grasped one of her hands, and held it in his own on the table. He leaned his head on his other hand and sighed. Daine glanced around to see if anyone was watching them, but everyone seemed too caught up in their own activities. She turned back and noticed that at some point Numair had closed the distance between them. </p><p>“Do you have more ale? You ran out.” He murmured, eyeing Onua’s mug. </p><p>“Maybe later,” she appraised him, noticing the glassy look in his eyes. “Are you having a good time?” She felt as though she were talking to a child.</p><p>“It’s okay,” he sighed, dramatically, and looked at her—his gaze surprisingly focused. “Where have <em>you </em> been? I wanted to dance with you and I couldn’t find you <em> anywhere</em>.” You would think that they were discussing something very serious based on his tone. </p><p>“I think you were trying to dance with <em> Buri</em>, Numair. And then Onua, kind of.” She snuck a smile to Onua who had turned to them when she heard her name. Numair snorted.</p><p>“No, no, no,” he waved his hand, shaking his head. “Not like <em> that </em> . Buri’s and Onua’s are nice, I suppose. But they’re <em> friends</em>, not Daine’s.” He nodded to himself, as if delivering some great tidbit of wisdom. </p><p>“<em>Numair</em>,” Onua’s voice was quiet, and sounded like a warning.  Daine looked at her friend, bemused, and was surprised to see that Onua’s face was deadly serious. Ignoring her, Daine turned back to Numair.</p><p>“Aren’t I a friend?” She laughed and Numair squeezed her hand. </p><p>“No. I mean, yes,” He looked confused now. Onua had slid down on her side of the table to be opposite of him, and if Daine wasn’t mistaken she was kicking the mage under the table and none too gently. “I mean—yes?” He seemed impervious to Onua’s attempts to garner his attention. “But you shouldn’t be,” he tweaked her nose. </p><p>“And what <em> should </em> I be?”</p><p>“I can’t watch this,” Sarge muttered and she felt him get up from the table. Onua sighed heavily.</p><p>“Numair, can I speak to you?” Onua leaned across the table to place a hand on Numair’s shoulder. Without missing a beat Numair placed the hand not gripping Daines squarely over Onua’s face and used his long arm to sit her back down. Shocked, Onua stayed in her seat.</p><p>“We should be <em> better </em> friends,” he supplied, finally, looking at Daine meaningfully. Daine glanced at Onua, who was watching the two of them like a wild animal she hadn’t yet gotten a read on, and then back to Numair.</p><p>“Well, I think that would be fine with me.” She said slowly. </p><p>“Excellent,” he cried—at least that’s what she <em> thought </em> he said. He hugged her tightly, head falling on her shoulder, and she patted his back. She looked to Onua who looked relieved but just shook her head in response to Daine’s questioning look.</p><p>“Numair,” Daine laughed and tried to push his slumped form off of her. She never realized how <em> heavy </em> he was. He mumbled, and nuzzled his nose against her neck. Daine felt a hot blush spread over her face and chest. Onua clicked her tongue and got up, coming up behind the mage and pulling him upright by the arms. Daine helped steady him and he leaned on his hand again, staring at Daine and smiling. </p><p>“That’s quite enough from you, Master Mage.” </p><p>“I think he may be about done,” Daine eyes him warily. “Will you help me get him to my room?” Onua raised an eyebrow at her young friend.</p><p>“I’m not sure how appropriate your room is. How about Cloud’s stall? She’ll make sure he’s nice and comfy.” Onua smirked.</p><p>“I can hear you talking about me.” Numair mumbled, pouting.  </p><p>“He’ll hurt enough in the morning without being Cloud’s chew toy.” Daine rolled her eyes, “and I will be up for a while yet. He can sleep it off in my room and then I can shoo him back to his own. Unless you want to help me get him back to the palace now?” </p><p>Onua looks at the pile of long, drunken limbs that currently made up most of their friend and grimaced.</p><p>“Your room it is. At least we can avoid the stairs,” she grumbled as each woman threw an arm over their shoulder and lifted on the count of three. It took them the better part of ten minutes to get the unstable man to the hallway, setting him down on the ground to catch their breath. Numair leaned back against the wall, sighing deeply.</p><p>“Where’s kit?” He asked, reaching around him.</p><p>“She’s trailing Jon for the week—she’s enamored with the festival preparations.” She shrugged. “I think it’s all the ribbons they let her play with.” She added on for Onua’s benefit. </p><p>Trying to get Numair up off of the floor quickly proved to be more challenging than they anticipated and Onua jogged off to get Sarge. Numair smiled and mumbled something that sounded like ‘alone at last’, but Daine couldn’t be sure. </p><p>Sarge came to the rescue, laughing loudly when he saw the other man.</p><p>“I can’t wait until he’s sober enough to be teased,” he grinned wickedly and hefted Numair’s limp form off of the floor, throwing him over his shoulder like a rag doll. Daine was amused to see that even with Sarge’s great height Numair’s hands were not far from being able to reach the floor. </p><p>They finally settled Numair in Daine’s rooms, nestled on top of the covers with his boots off and a bucket at the bedside—just in case. Daine cringed, hoping they had caught him before he would become ill. </p><p>Daine was the last to slip out of her rooms. She found that Sarge had already left to keep an eye on the ruckus but that Onua had hung back for her. She looped her arm through Daine’s elbow as they walked back. </p><p>“Did he say anything while I was getting Sarge?” She asked. She sounded hesitant. </p><p>“Drunken foolery.” Daine rolled her eyes. “Why?”</p><p>“He just seemed very—” she drew a deep breath, “<em>affectionate </em> with you in the hall.” Onua cast her a sidelong glance. </p><p>“I suppose.” It was Daine’s turn to choose her words carefully. “That’s not such an odd thing for someone who’s indulged too much though.” </p><p>“No, but he was very focused on <em> you</em>.” </p><p>“Onua, do you have a point?” Daine asked frankly and Onua sighed and came to a halt. She turned Daine towards her, placing her hands on either side of Daine’s arms. </p><p>“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to—I know it’s none of my business and I’ve been waiting this long to see if you’d talk to me.” She inhaled deeply and Daine narrowed her eyes, waiting for the K’miri to elaborate. Onua exhaled, “Have you and Numair talked about your relationship?” Daine’s brows knitted in confusion. </p><p>“I mean, we’re friends. I don’t suppose there’s much to talk about, is there?” She shook her head, feeling uncomfortable. </p><p>“Have you talked about the fact that you maybe, well, shouldn’t be <em> friends</em>?” Onua was still trying to filter her words and it was becoming fair irksome. Her directness was normally one of her best qualities, in Daine’s opinion. </p><p>“Why would we not be friends anymore? Just because he’s no longer my teacher we shouldn’t see each other anymore?” Defensiveness came easy to her. It had been suggested before that Numair would tire of her now that their academic relationship was no longer formal. Onua shook her head, cutting the girl off.</p><p>“No, youngin’, that’s not what I meant. I suppose I should be frank.” Onua pinched the bridge of her nose. “Have you and Numair ever talked about if you are interested in being lovers?” Onua shrugged, she looked embarrassed but also relieved to have it out there. Daine felt herself turning beet red, and stammered.</p><p>“No,” she shook her head, “I mean—you’ve seen the women he prefers. They’re about as far from me as you can get.” She tried to laugh but it came out strangled. She knew she sounded jealous and was mortified. Onua studied her with something that looked like sympathy in her dark eyes. Daine hated that look. </p><p>“Have you <em> thought </em> about it? If that’s something <em> you </em> would like?” Onua sighed when Daine shook her head but appeared unable to form a response. She guided them to a bench, sitting them both down. “I’m not trying to embarrass you—but when I asked if you talked about it you implied that he would not be interested, not that you aren’t.” Daine leaned forward and buried her face in her hand, letting out a frustrated sound that was muffled. </p><p>“I don’t know,” she sat up, exasperated. “I can’t believe I’m saying this out loud. You’re going to think that I’m the silliest girl this side of the Drell River.” </p><p>“Why?” Onua was bemused and Daine groaned.</p><p>“Entertaining the idea of me with,” she waved her hand in the general direction of her room, “<em>him</em>. What chance would I ever have?” </p><p>“Why wouldn’t you?” Onua laughed at this but stopped quickly at Daine’s expression. </p><p>“You were the one who told me first—remember? He likes ‘shapely blondes’.” She muttered bitterly, looking down and pulling at the tunic resting over her own modest bust. “The kind who look gorgeous rolling out of bed in the morning, and probably look even better falling back into one.” Her cheeks burned. </p><p>“I’m not so sure you’re giving him, or yourself for that matter, quite enough credit.” Onua chided gently. She patted Daine’s back. “I take it you have thought about it then?” Daine leaned on her knee, propping up her chin with her hand, and sighed. </p><p>“There have been times where it seems like—” she shook her head. “I don’t know how to explain it but over the last few years there are these <em> moments</em>. It happened a lot those few months after the Immortal’s war. Since then too, last Fall we had this—” She bit her lip, not quite sure what she was saying. “You know that moment where you’re sure you’re about to be kissed?” Daine looked at her friend who laughed and nodded.</p><p>“Yes, I vaguely remember what that’s like.” Onua said dramatically, evoking a laugh from her troubled friend.</p><p>“It’s like that and then he carries on like nothing happened, and sometimes it's months with nothing. Eventually I just had to assume I was imagining things.” She sat up straight, letting out a long, frustrated breath. “You <em>can’t </em> tell him. I can’t even believe I’m telling <em> you</em>.” </p><p>“Would it be such a bad thing if he knew?” </p><p>Daine shook her head, “I know where we stand. I don’t want to make things uncomfortable. It’s a miracle he hasn’t caught on already—and if he has, well, he’s been fair polite about it. No need to force a conversation on something already settled.” </p><p>Onua leaned back, tapping her finger on her knee. After a long moment she sighed as if making a decision. “I assure you, he doesn’t know.” </p><p>“Did he say something to you,” she sat up straight, looking stricken.</p><p>“No, no,” Onua placed a hand on her friends knee. “Look, it’s not my place to give away too much, but it seems like the two of you are the <em> only </em> people working without all the information. What I will say, is that if he <em> were </em> to know I think you’d be surprised. And Horse Lord’s know he’s not the daring of the two of you, so perhaps you should think about letting on a little.” </p><p>Daine regarded her friend, turning the implication over in her mind.</p><p>“Do you understand what I’m trying to say?” The older woman asked when Daine didn’t speak.</p><p>She nodded, slowly, “Yes.” Her hands were shaking despite being braced against her knees. </p><p>“Then I will say no more until you ask it of me.” Onua stood, motioning for her to follow. “In any event, he’s dead to the world for the time being so come back to the party with me and leave your fretting for when you can do something about it.”</p><p>A small boon of pushing away such thoughts for so many years was that it was easy enough to do for a few more hours. Sure, she turned whenever someone slightly taller than average crossed her peripheral vision and began the walk back to her room no less than three times before turning around, but good friends, a moderate amount of imbibing, and even a handful of dances helped to pass the hours until the hour grew late enough that even the rowdiest attendees began to fade. </p><p>She smiled to see Evin goading a group of riders’ to clean the mess left behind—a task traditionally allocated to those who caused the most trouble and one he had performed many a year. Her stomach flipped as she approached her door, candlelight still spilling from the threshold, and regretted not accepting that last offer of a drink from Sarge. </p><p>She opened the door, quietly, but found the occupant already awake. He sat on the edge of her bed, doubled over with his elbows on his knees, looking worse for the wear. He looked up when she closed the door behind her.</p><p>“Daine?” </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Knock Them Down</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Daine?” He lurched to his feet—or tried to. She rushed forward to steady him, coaxing him back down to the bed. </p>
<p>He looked up at her, squinting in the candlelight. “Why are you here?” It took a moment, but she saw his mouth form into a soft ‘oh’ as he looked around them. “This is yours,” he spoke softly, more to himself than anyone.</p>
<p>“Yes,” she couldn’t help but smirk. It was so rare that she saw him in any state less than composed. </p>
<p>“I don’t think I’m—” he sighed and rubbed his face with his hands as he stumbled over his words. “I’m afraid I overdid it.” </p>
<p>“A bit, I suppose,” she knelt so that she could get a better look at him. He’d not been sick, which was a small miracle in itself. Thick strands of hair had pulled free from his horsetail, and the side of his face had lines from where he had collapsed against her pillow. </p>
<p>He mumbled something that sounded like an apology and she shook her head, “don’t you worry. Happens to the best of us; no harm in letting loose now and then.”</p>
<p>He snorted, “dangerous.” </p>
<p>She sat next to him, gently pulling the tie from his hair and working his locks into some semblance of neatness. </p>
<p>He sighed and pressed into her touch. “Hold steady,” she said, softly. “I need you to be still. I know you like to look handsome.”</p>
<p>“Think I’m handsome?” He turned to her and she couldn’t help but smile at how wide his grin was. She had given him compliments that had pleased him in the past, but it was rare to see him so open about it. </p>
<p>“I do, if you must know,” she looked away, blushing, and added, “but don’t let it go to your head.” </p>
<p>“I won’t tell anyone.” His reply was so sincere she couldn’t help but giggle. He leaned into her shoulder with a sigh, and she thought he may have been asleep again until he mumbled something.</p>
<p>“What was that?” She stroked his hair, enjoying his nearness even if he did smell of whiskey. </p>
<p>“I have secrets.”</p>
<p>“Do you?” Her voice was steady enough despite Onua’s words flooding back to her. She was getting ahead of herself, surely. </p>
<p>“Of course,” he yawned, “like that I like it when you touch me.” He nuzzled more firmly against her neck. </p>
<p>Sordid meanings to his confession came fast and clear—easily recalled fantasies she could never admit to—and she shook her head; it was late and he was still silly with drink. She was a little light-headed with it as well. It was not the time.</p>
<p>“We should get you back to your room,” she murmured. It was not without regret. </p>
<p>“What time is it?” He opened his eyes, looking around as if he were realizing all over where he was. </p>
<p>“Very late,” she paused, “or very early. Take your pick.” </p>
<p>“Oh,” his voice was quiet. “I shouldn’t be here.”</p>
<p>“You’d be more comfortable where you can sleep in, to be sure,” she smiled wryly, thinking of Sarge’s wake-up call that would rattle the walls in just a few hours. </p>
<p>“<em>Inappropriate </em>.” </p>
<p>She paused, “I think that depends on why you’re here.” She resumed stroking his hair, ignoring the nagging voice that told her she was leading someone who couldn’t find their way out of a sack in that moment. </p>
<p>“Intentions,” he shifted, pressing his face against her and muffling most of his words, “half the battle.” </p>
<p>She shuddered, not entirely sure if his lips brushing against her neck had been purposeful or not. She swallowed, fighting back against the pull of alcohol and the feel of him that worked so steadily against her best judgement. “Let’s go; we should get you back now.”</p>
<p>He sighed and let a lingering moment pass, sliding his arm around her waist and pressing more firmly against her, before speaking, “I don’t want to.” Breathing came in staggered waves, like she’d forgotten how, and she struggled to grasp at words when all she wanted to do was reach back for him. He drew away, suddenly, and stood, “but I shouldn’t.” </p>
<p>He wasn’t looking at her and in the fading candlelight it was hard to make out his features but the movement was sobering. To him as well, it seemed, because he stood straighter than she had seen him do all evening. She blinked, standing and straightening her tunic. It was simple to place her hand on his arm, as she had done many times before, and guide him to the door—as simple as it would be later to remember how his hand had clutched at her clothing, like he wanted to pull it away. </p>
<p>Cold air met them; a tempering force pulling them back into the real world. A chiding guardian setting its wayward charges to rights before they must greet a new day. The grounds were quiet. Two-leggers and people alike, those who fought the dying of the light and early-risers, were all tucked away in their own private corners. It was one of the few true quiet times of the world. Only the morning dew was at work, readying the world. </p>
<p>She shivered, suddenly very tired. They walked in silence; steps becoming steadier and minds becoming clearer as cold pushed back against the haziness coursing through their veins. Numair stopped when they reached the palace walls, turning and pulling away from her touch. He studied their surroundings and then looked down at her, concerned.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to walk me home,” he said it slowly, as if the matter were just occurring to him. </p>
<p>“It’s a little late for that,” she laughed. “It’s fine; I just want to see you back safely,” she reached out to nudge him along. Her words were true, but she was also ready to return to her own bed and what she hoped would be a nice, long sleep. </p>
<p>“I’m not in any danger,” he mumbled.</p>
<p>“Mortal, no. Of waking up in a rose bush, very much.” </p>
<p>They trudged up the path and Daine nodded at a guard who eyed the two of them in a way that left no doubt as to what he thought of them. Numair, for once, didn’t seem to notice.</p>
<p>“Who will walk <em> you </em> home?”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry?” She turned back to her friend, looking up in an effort to gauge his expression. </p>
<p>“You walk me home. Then I will have to walk you home. And then,” he gestured, vaguely, “you will have to walk me home. Endless, really.”</p>
<p>She grinned, “you may be forming complete sentences—well, perhaps not for you—but you’re still fair silly.” She was just happy that she hadn’t had to try and carry him. “I’m quite capable of walking myself back.” </p>
<p>She steered him left, towards a garden they both preferred to cut through as opposed to continuing along the main entryway. </p>
<p>He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and swaying as he narrowly avoided running into a bush. “Not very gentleman-ly of me.” </p>
<p>“It’s a good thing I’m not a lady, then.” </p>
<p>“Not in a conventional way,” he replied in a tone of voice she knew meant he was gearing up to propose a theory. She should count on one hand how many times she had seen him imbibe, and all had involved extensive, complicated speeches on topics of absolutely no consequence. </p>
<p>“Not in <em> any </em> way.” She said, firmly. It was best to put an end to it before he began when he was in this sort of mood; that, or settle in. </p>
<p>She rolled her eyes in response to his skeptical glance. “A lady wouldn’t have shown up to a party like this, would she?” She gestured at her clothing; breeches and tunic rumpled from a long day and, somehow, longer night. </p>
<p>“Doesn’t matter,” he fought back a yawn, his words slurring, and she had to lean close to hear him, “still beautiful.” </p>
<p>She blushed, “flatterer.” </p>
<p>“You always do that,” he leaned into her, and slid his arm around her waist. She tried to remember if he had ever done that before—certainly not in this way. </p>
<p>“What?” She ducked her head; looking at him felt dangerous. Tempting fate, or something like it. </p>
<p>“You don’t believe me.”</p>
<p>“I believe you,” she scoffed.</p>
<p>“Not when I tell you you’re beautiful.” His voice was quiet, thoughtful.</p>
<p>She sighed, “it’s not that I think you’re <em> lying</em>, but you’re too kind to me. You always,” she paused, “shine up the truth a bit.” </p>
<p>“<em>Shine up the truth</em>?” He pulled her against him, prodding her to elaborate. </p>
<p>She pushed a curl back from her face, embarrassed. “I’m not trying to be pitiful about myself, but I know where I stand. I certainly don’t hold a candle to the queen, or the types of women <em> you </em>find attractive.” She cast him a sidelong glance. It was too dark to see a blush, but she recognized his smile as a bashful one. </p>
<p>“And what do you know about the women <em> I </em> find attractive?” His voice was low; there was a heat to it—a challenge. She gaped at him, taken aback; all the lines they had been toeing and it felt like he had finally decided to step over one. They never talked about his lovers. Or hers. Not frankly; anyway. Small comments, acknowledgment when it couldn’t be avoided without being impolite, questions that never seemed aimed to hit their mark—nothing like this. </p>
<p>She has never been one to back down from a challenge. </p>
<p>She could hear the earliest of the birds beginning to stir—dawn was coming. The air was cold and damp. His hand settled at her waist as though it had always belonged there. His thumb traced circles against her—confident, like he knew how to touch her, knew how she liked to be touched. Her head was clear enough to know they were in dangerous territory; hazy enough with drink and the nearness of him not to care. </p>
<p>“I know they could just about come as a set,” she didn’t even try not to sound sour. “Blonde, mature, graceful, refined, <em> buxom</em>.” </p>
<p>“I noticed that emphasis,” he chuckled, not apologetic in the least. Something to tease him about at a later date. </p>
<p>“You notice it on <em> them</em>, too.”</p>
<p>“There’s more to it than that,” now he sounded nice and embarrassed. </p>
<p>“Silk, and jewels, and soft sensibilities,” she nodded her head. </p>
<p>“That’s not all there is,” he ducked his head, “to <em> all </em> of them.” </p>
<p>“Of course not; I’m sure you’re fair,” she sighed, “<em>fond </em> of some of them—”</p>
<p>“How generous,” he grumbled. </p>
<p>“But you can’t deny you have a type when it comes to sex.” Another night, a drink or two less, and she would have tried to be a little more delicate. </p>
<p>“<em>Daine </em>,” he sputtered and she could practically hear his blush. </p>
<p>“Well, am I <em> wrong</em>?” </p>
<p>A beat passed before he let out a long sigh, “I suppose you aren’t so far off base. I’m not sure how we got here, though…”</p>
<p>“We’re passing through the gardens,” she turned her head, pointing back to where they had come from, and shook his head.</p>
<p>“I mean our talk. Our very <em> odd</em>, probably inadvisable, talk.”  </p>
<p>“Well, you called me beautiful,” she tried to sound matter-of-fact but the compliment was too pleasing. </p>
<p>“I did, and I meant it,” he squeezed her closer to him for emphasis, “but somehow that turned to talking of women I—” he faltered, obviously embarrassed. </p>
<p>“Want to canoodle with.” </p>
<p>“Charming,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.</p>
<p>“My <em> point</em>,” she stifled a yawn, “is that you’re too free with your words to believe for someone whose so obvious with your tastes, master mage. You call me beautiful, but I know the types of women you’re attracted to. I hardly fit the descriptor.”</p>
<p>“That’s not true,” he replied quickly—too quickly perhaps, and she felt him stiffen. Like he had caught himself too late to prevent a mistake. She looked up at him, slowing their pace, and searched for words. She wasn’t sure where to go from there. </p>
<p>He cleared his throat before she could decide. “This feels one-sided.” If it weren’t for the slight wobble to his step and the way he leaned against her for support as much as anything else she would have forgotten he was far from his right mind. </p>
<p>“How so?” She cocked her head, and felt a pin in her hair give way—it had put up a valiant effort, lasting so long and all. </p>
<p>“Well, you seem to know all about my,” he hesitated, searching for a delicate phrasing, “<em>inclinations</em>. I’m not sure I know yours.”</p>
<p>“What type of men I like in my bed?” She almost laughed.</p>
<p>“No,” he spluttered, sounding horrified. The more he struggled to recover the more she knew that was exactly his question. </p>
<p>“Numair, you don’t think I’m a virgin do you?” She asked, another possibility coming to mind. </p>
<p>He continued to falter and finally sighed. “No, I suppose I didn’t,” he said it quietly and she had to lean in to hear him. He pressed his lips against her curls, so gently she almost missed it. </p>
<p>“Does that bother you?” Far off, beyond the castle walls, she knew that the sun was beginning to creep above the horizon. Their pace had slowed to a crawl, as if they could make time move slower with them. </p>
<p>“I suppose that may be true, as well.” It was a confession, she knew. One he didn’t want to give. She hesitated, before offering her own. </p>
<p>“It bothers me, too.” It was her turn to whisper and she wondered if she had been clear but the way he gripped her hip told her he understood. Of all the unspoken things that lay between them, jealousy may be at the core—protecting something even more fragile. </p>
<p>They approached the entryway—an out-of-use servants passage favored by the more reclusive academics—and were startled by a guard on his rounds. He nodded to them, torchlight casting weak shadows against the stone walls. They acknowledged his greeting, taking note of the way his gaze travelled over her, and Numair stepped away. She realized how cold the morning air was in his absence, but he had placed distance between them and his hands were in his pockets and suddenly they were so far away from that fragile thing. </p>
<p>She followed him through the door, a little surprised that he hadn’t wished her a goodnight. The guard surely saw them enter and the creak of the old door would have caught the attention of any other prying eyes that might be about. The stairs here were narrow, spiraling, and steep. Their feet padded softly against the stone, worn smooth from so many steps and so many years, as they moved in silence. She slipped, cursing, and he reached back to steady her. It was barely more than a breath and they were on their way again; somehow saving one another was like that now: like breathing; second nature. </p>
<p>He didn’t let go of her hand, though, and the way he held it—the way his thumb traced circled on her palm—felt as intimate as any moment in the garden. Like he held something fragile. </p>
<p>They had reached the window with the broken shutter—decaying wood creaking to welcome them home—when he spoke. “You didn’t answer.” </p>
<p>“Answer what?” She looked up, watching his back as he reached the landing and pulled her up with him. </p>
<p>He turned, hand still clasping hers, and looked down at her. “What you like.” </p>
<p>The sunlight creeping through the broken shutter didn’t reach the landing. He stood over her, not so close that they touched but close enough that it would be so easy to, in the shadows and waited for her answer. </p>
<p>She cocked her head, feeling the curl that had broken free earlier fall across her shoulder, and looked up at him. There was a heat in his gaze that wanted more than an answer. Wanted something deeper than words. She peered at him through her lashes, tilted her chin forward, bit her lip—an invitation for an invitation. So many years afraid to play and now it felt so easy to raise the stakes. She wondered who would be the first to call. </p>
<p>“Do you really want to know?” She saw his gaze fall to her lips. Odd that it wasn’t the first time, but surely the first where he let himself linger; where she knew it wasn’t a trick of the light. A trick of her head, though…</p>
<p>He licked his lips, opening them to speak, when the creak of a door far below broke whatever spell had held them in that place. Normal enough in the early hours, dangerous enough to be around something so fragile. </p>
<p>He turned, pushing open the door, and led them into the corridor. They were in the main stretch now; any servants or, more unlikely, mages were free to travel about here. He didn’t let go of her hand. Normally, they’d cross the breezeway but that way went to his workshop, not his rooms. She realized how rare it was that they ever went to his chambers. Certainly never like this. </p>
<p>Midsummer luck—or the late nights that came with it—was on their side and they met no one. They passed Lindhall's rooms, a tray from the night before still outside the door. Almost there. She struggled not to yawn; she could curl up on the floor right then and there and be asleep in moments, yet she surely wasn’t ready for this—whatever it was—to end. </p>
<p>“Tall,” she broke the silence. Anything to extend this a little more. “Very tall, preferably. Dark hair, dark eyes. Never been one for dimples, though.” She referred to a time he had confessed how desperately he wanted dimples as a child after seeing how his mother doted on his brothers. Dangerous reference. Telling. Showing her hand too early, perhaps. Too late now. </p>
<p>He slowed, looking at her. She could see him more clearly now, in the light of the corridor. She could see him working out her words. See how he was taken aback when he placed them, but also how he smiled. There was something about it that made her wonder how long he’d been guarding his smiles around her. He did again—or tried to—but his eyes betrayed how pleased he was. She smiled back, feeling a blush spread up her neck. </p>
<p>They reached his door and he stopped, turning his body towards her but looking away. </p>
<p>“Numair?” Her cards may be on the table, but he still needed to play. </p>
<p>“Sorry,” he murmured, “just deciding something.” He looked at her, searching for something, before dropping her hand with a squeeze and sighing. “Goodnight, magelet.” </p>
<p>She blinked as he turned away, surprised but not sure why. Different vantage points, but the same precipice they’d been peering across all these years. “Goodnight,” she put her hands in her pockets. Fatigue swept in like a dam being released. Like it always did after a long journey. </p>
<p>She had turned to leave when he spoke again, “Daine, wait.” </p>
<p>She turned to see him leaning forward, hand on the latch and forehead pressed against the doorframe. His eyes were closed as if he were concentrating on something very delicate. Fragile. Sighing again, he nodded to himself—head striking the frame softly with two muffled <em> thumps </em>. </p>
<p>He drew in a breath and turned to her, standing straight and sliding his hands into his pockets. </p>
<p>“Are you going to the banquet tomorrow ni—tonight?” He corrected himself, the red of his cheeks the only indication of his nerves. </p>
<p>“I was planning to.”</p>
<p>“Can I escort you?” </p>
<p>Her words stuck in her throat and she rushed to recover, lest the offer be fleeting, and nodded, “yes.” </p>
<p>“I mean—” he cleared his throat, “I should be clear: I mean to ask you as the beginning of a courtship.” </p>
<p>“Still yes,” she smiled, “more so, even.”</p>
<p>He smiled, unguarded, and cleared his throat. “Alright, then.” He unlatched his door, steadying himself against the frame, and disappeared from view. </p>
<p>Daine might have floated back to her own rooms for how much she noticed the world around her. She slipped through the stables—the riders already emerging, bleary-eyed, from their rooms and Sarge's wake-up call blessedly passed—and back into her own rooms where she fell into a deep sleep. </p>
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